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Emmanuels Ghost Banishing 241016
On a peculiar evening at Arkwright Cemetery, amidst childlike giggles pervading the air and a pressing silence that muted the world beyond, a small group gathered to confront a mischievous spirit. Emmanuel, exasperated by the presence of trickster ghost children, alongside Euphemia, Novel, and Elora, found themselves embroiled in an eerie situation. The graveyard, under a waxing gibbous moon and with the scent of an impending storm, became the stage for a battle of wits and wills against the supernatural. Novel's casual mockery, Euphemia's readiness for combat, and Elora's mystical preparations set the tone as the spirit's games began to warp reality, compelling the group to spill secrets and confront desires they'd much rather keep hidden.
Elora's chanting and symbolic circle crafting, bathed in the glow of neon orbs and ethereal light, became the pivotal element in their standoff against the ghostly children's influences. Amidst forced confessions and the spirit's attempts at sowing discord, including a bizarre command for two members of the group to share a kiss, each individual's resolve was tested. Emmanuel's and Novel's altercation turned comical confession session, and Euphemia's guarded but valiant front, underscored by Elora's focus on her incantations, showcased the group's resilience. Despite the spirit's best efforts to lead them astray with illusions of lost loves and whispered temptations, they pressed on.
The climax of their struggle saw Elora intensifying her magical efforts, leading to the spirit's eventual banishment. With the departure of the spectral children, the whimsical yet oppressive atmosphere they'd conjured dissipated, leaving behind a sobering reality. Novel's rant about proper cheese usage and cooking techniques humorously cut through the aftermath, illustrating the return to normalcy and grounding the group after their surreal encounter. However, a lingering sense of melancholy pervaded, a silent acknowledgment that the cemetery's usual stillness couldn't quite compare to the fleeting, though unsettling, enchantment of the ghost children's games.
(Emmanuel's ghost banishing)
[Tue Oct 15 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 57F(13C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
Child-like giggling begins to fill the graveyard, it comes from everywhere, filling the minds of the small gathering here only to suddenly cut off, leaving everything dead silent, not even the wind makes a sound, the distant cars passing the graveyard have been muted. Only local voices can be heard by one another.
Novel rollls right on up, boots thumping across the ground and offering a lazy smirk to Euphemia, "Not much, slut, just finished a shift at Sludgefukk. You?" And then, more casually, "Hey, Elora, Emmanuel-oh for fuck's sake."
"Uuugh." There's a low grunt of disssatisfaction as the giggling fills the air, and Emmanuel turns to glance back toward his van, as if considering just running away from this particular spirit, "I am hating these things, hm? Why is it children?"
Emmanuel says "Non, they are not a helpful person. They're a monster, and a trickster. "
As the eerie giggling filled the graveyard, Euphemia tensed, her focus shifting to the oppressive atmosphere that seemed to close in around them. The sound, coming from everywhere at once, sent a chill through her, but Euphemia seems resolved... steady, preparing to assist Emmanuel and Novel in their attempt to banish the spirit. Her breath caught as the laughter abruptly cut off, leaving a deafening silence. The entire world seemed to mute around them -- no wind, no distant cars, only the faint sound of their own voices breaking the oppressive quiet. Euphemia's hands hovered near her weapons, her eyes scanning the dimly lit gravestones for any sign of movement. The unnatural stillness pressed against her, but she kept her mind clear, ready to act when the time came.
Elora looks around the stretch of old cemetery with the grass grounds half-swallowing the tombstones as the child-like giggling begins to fill the graveyard coming from everywhere at once. As the silence is filled not by wind by by the voice of others she doesn't join in the talking. Instead she moves a bit away from the others, finding a stick, she starts using to trace out ruins on the ground.
Euphemia says "...Call me that again, and i'll shove those trousers down your throat. I'm cool, though. Lepia is very sweet."
A soft, melodic voice fills the air, teasing, 'I know something you dont... but what if you already knew? Go on, tell them... or I will!' Suddenly, the urge to spill a long-hidden secret burns in your chest.
The voice wrapped around her thoughts, its playful tone turning darker as the urge began to grow. The temptation gnawed at her, the need to speak, to release the long-hidden truth she'd kept buried. Her hands clenched into fists, breath quickening as the secret burned inside her, threatening to spill out against her will. Euphemia's wintry blue eyes darted to Emmanuel and Novel, the pressure building, almost unbearable, but she fought against it, struggling to keep the words from escaping. "Ah -- I brought something back from my last--" Euphemia's eyes widen, both hands slamming into her own mouth to silence herself.
"You wish you could make me choke," Novel hassles Euphemia good-naturedly, seemingly completely intent on doing the opposite as the man literally whips out a crack pipe and with a snap and a few clicks of his finger, lights up and takes in a deep inhale, a flashing grimace crossing his lips. "Fuck off, nobody can prove shit about anything. I never goddamn touched the guy." There's a wistful noise, a deep, exasperated sigh of disappointment crossing his features. "Fuck, I wish we hadn't gone so far and he killed himself. I still miss him." As he digs up some long-buried and some deeply fucked up memory that seems to bring him equal parts sadness and joy as he stares into the distance, somewhere south.
Elora is still sketching a circle of sigils on the ground when the melodic voice comes and fills her with an urge. Her eyes raise and look around the group taking in Euphemia, Emmanuel, and Novel. The stillness of the silence is broken by her voice as she admits, "I once accepted a bargain with a fae. I thought I was getting freedom, but I was tricked." She shakes her head a moment after speaking the words. Then redoubles her focus on the sigils she is drawing. A circle is taking shape, one with lines coming out of it forming claw, tooth, or thorn like points around its edges. its a wider circle, wide enough that one could stand in it. And as she completes it she does just that, stepping into its center.
A soft giggle echoes in the air, followed by the scent of roses. For a brief moment, the face of a lover or crush you havent seen in years flashes before your eyeswas it real, or just a trick?
What secrets does Emmanuel even have? "Ah, I cut my own hair," Is that even a secret? It's evidence of self-harm perhaps, but not really that surprising. "I am only half-French, hm? My mother is from Belgium." Gross, but also not that big a secret. "There is being some part of me that wants Korina to step on me." Also gross, but also not that earth-shattering a secret. Probably a little embarrasing though. "The first person I killed was-" Nah, he isn't going to finish this thought, and much like Euphemia, claps a hand over his mouth.
Elora has hair that is neon and turquoise that looks darker in the dimness of the graveyard. But that changes as suddenly glowing orbs begin to whisp into reality around her, lighting the area and casting away some of the gloom. They hang in the air on nothing, moving lazily in a circle around her. They cast a gentle glow over everyone present as well as the tombstones and overgrown grass.
The image was faint, almost dreamlike, leaving her unsure if it was real or merely a trick of the spirit. But Euphemia's history truly had not comtained many lovers... and there was no time to dwell on it. With a sharp breath, Euphemia recomposed herself, shaking off the momentary confusion. Her focus returned as she quickly drew her bow, notching an arrow and steadying her aim. The past, whether real or imagined, was pushed aside as she readied herself for what came in the future, clear and resolute. "...These things need to stop messing with our minds. Stay focused, we'll cover your ritual."
Novel seems to be caught up down a walk across memory lane, a wistful smile dancing across his features and a contemplative mien to his thoughts. He's definitely not paying attention... and then there's a flash from the ghost. An image. And it's gone. He's all scowls, now, deeply angry as he turns away with a snarl on his face and agreeing with Euphemia, "Yeah, all right. Whatver. I prefer the brimstone fucking bitches," He mutters as he stomps around Elora's circle, setting up to flank and spread out to provide the other coverage as he settles into a knife-fighter's crouch.
Elora has teal eyes which catches the glow of coming off of the orbs around her giving them a more surreal quality. She looks toward the others as her magic settles on the area, lighting it, in a wondering way as she is told to stay focused - distracted by the request for a lack of distraction - but then she does focus, kneeling once more now within the circle she had drawn she begins to draw ever more intracte sigils upon the ground.
A soft giggle echoes in the air, followed by the scent of roses. For a brief moment, the face of a lover or crush you havent seen in years flashes before your eyeswas it real, or just a trick?
The soft giggle echoed again, roses perfuming the air, but this time, the fleeting image of a lover or crush did nothing to unsettle Euphemia. Her mind remained clear, focused on the moment. Without hesitation, she drew her bow, notching an arrow with practiced precision. The spirits' tricks no longer phased her -- shed shrugged off the illusion without a second thought. Calm and composed, Euphemia stood ready, eyes scanning the area, prepared to take action without a trace of confusion.
There is a wary glance afforded toward Elora as she prepares her magic, but soon enough Emmanuel is exhaling a long breath and reaching into his pockets. He goes about trying to form a circle of salt around her, which while not as cool as her magic, is definitely almost a circle?
Euphemia says, exhasperated, "This shit is ridiculous. Novel, i'm about to start shooting you."
Elora begins to mutter under her breath as she draws sigils. "Nullum solacium quaere, nullam vindicationem tene... abito, oblitus, sine nomines," she practically hisses out. She doesn't stop the low chanting of latin words either. They spill from her in a stream as she works a ritual against the giggling echoes of the spirits influencing the group.
Emmanuel says "A small mercy, hm? We are just dealing with spirit fae children."
Emmanuel says "Right now. Oui."
Novel answers Euphemia with a shrug, "Hey, whatever makes you fucking feel better. I could probably absorb at least ONE fucking bullet as long as you aren't blasting me with a fucking shotgun at this range," he mutters back to the woman, his feet shifting with obvious agitation and the thud-thud-thud as his booted foot starts kicking a gravestone, as if that will make the ghosts calm down and be less angry.
Elora as she continues to hiss lowly under her breath and sketch ruins some of the runes that she had drawn into the earth are beginning to glow faintly with an etheranl neon light not too dissimilar from the color of her hair. Surrounded by the gentle glow which due to the unkepmpty grass tends to be blocked except near her where she clears it with stick and hand, she is lit from both above by spinning lights and below by the etheral glow.
The feminine voice echos to each person, Lets play a game! Two of you must kiss! and you feel a very strong desire to play along regardless of your feelings towards your companions.
Emmanuel says "Yeah, we're fin-"
Elora perks up. "Oh," the diminuitive girl so fae like in apperance says. "I like games!" She looks up from her drawing of runes. She looks around the group; the lights around her are glowing more fiercely now, flaring as if to protect her from the influence.
Emmanuel pauses mid-response over the comms, and turns to glance over toward Novel. "Gods above, you have always made such delicious food, hm?" He drawls out, caught up in the moment as his gaze turns from admiration to something more, and then Emmanuel is launching himself at the other man, mashing his lips against him while groping, and grappling at him, "Kiss me, kiss me, you beautiful lunatic."
Elora looks toward the Euphemia. "Shall we?"
Novel is currently sucking on a brightly glowing red crack pipe as he leans over to give Emmanuel a big, WET SMOOCH, and likely to leave a caustic chemical dime-burn on his cheek and an accidental contact high to the poor frenchman. The man tastes like someone who's been eating greasy noodles and then poured the contents of the fireworks factory nearby in plus the alleyways for good measure as he reaches around to pull him close by the hip, "Fuck you you fucking faggot it's amazing to watch you murder the shit out of things and then pretend you hate it while being really happy about it."
Euphemia glances nervously in the direction of Emmanuel... but every ounce of her willpower seems intent upon keeping herself rooted in place. She steps into the circle of salt, lowering down... only for Elora to offer some relief for that urge. "I- um, sure." She kneels down... setting her bow aside... and reaches out to caress the side of this stranger's cheek. Leaning inwards to tentatively caress her lips with Euphemia's own.
A soft, melodic voice fills the air, teasing, 'I know something you dont... but what if you already knew? Go on, tell them... or I will!' Suddenly, the urge to spill a long-hidden secret burns in your chest.
"Neh, neh," There's audible lip-smacking sounds as Emmanuel slobbers all over and against Novel's wet lips, breathing in those terrible chemicals and exhaling through his nose. The lock of lips breaks, so that the Frenchman can avoid being burned any further, and he dips in closer toward Novel's neck to bite, and kiss at him. "Mon deiu, you are so savage, hm? So primal? You just do what you want," He reaches around and takes a palmful of all American beef, which is to say, Novel's buttttttttt.
Elora makes a pleased sound. "This is much more pleasant than the last time I came here. Then I was alone and instead of children, an army. And it was most cold. Terribly, terribly cold." She smiles at Euphemia, but then shakes herself.
Elora doesn't bother calling out a secret as the sigils around her flare once more.
Elora hisses out under her breath once more, looking more tense as she refocuses on the Inctation that goes along with her Ritualism. "Nullum solacium quaere, nullam vindicationem tene... abito, oblitus, sine nomine, she hisses, her words weaving through the air lit by the whisping lights of her magic."
Novel writhes against Emmanuel in either ecstasy or pain as he tastes the French cheese on his lips. But, they both know the insane fucker likes weird cheeses that have been sitting out too long as he tilts his head to one side as he draws the other man towards terrible embrace and then - he shoves the man away with an open, thumping palm, wiping his lips. "Alright I'm done get the fuck off me, the last time I blew a dude for a hit was years ago." As he reveals yet another terrible, but likely unsurprising, secret.
The pleased response from Elora seems to bring a soft smile to the lithe woman's lips... a soft flush of crimson blossoming across her cheeks in the aftermath of her kiss. For a moment, Euphemia sits there in silence. Silently admiring, and listening... to this woman she has never met. But the urge to spill secrets snaps her back to reality... both hands raising to slap the sides of her face. "...Focus! FOCUS!" She whirls around, thrusting herself to her feet... as an ethereal light begins to glow underneath her skin. She takes a defensive stance above Elora, Bow at the ready.
Euphemia says "Well you're not alone now, yes? We've got your back."
Emmanuel had just about been getting ready to clamber up Novel like he were a tree, and mount him right there and then, until he's shoved back and stumbles away. There's a headiness to him, and he blinks rapidly, trying to shake out the fog from both the contact high, and the sheer drug that is Novel himself, "..Right." He blurts out, awkwardly, and clears his throat several times, then spits on the ground. "You kiss like a sexy llama," Emmanuel accuses of Novel then, and moves to get back to tossing salt.
Elora in her muttering seems to be having some impact. The silence that was so heavy and muting seems to lift slightly. Abito, oblitus, sine nomine... There is an aggression to her words. Her teal eyes rove as she chants, as if searching for something amid the cemetary tombstones.
A flash of light reveals a dancing figure, twirling gracefully through the air. Their voice is sing-songy as they tease, 'He loves me... he loves me not...' Each time they speak, doubt flickers in your heart about your closest relationships.
Novel rolls the pipe to the other side of his lips and then squints at Emmanuel, "And you kiss like a goddamn cat attached to the end of a vacuum cleaner," As the man raises his v-neck to wipe at his neck and lips though there's an easy smirk on his lips, "Though seriously, brie AND gruyere melted together? Come on man, should have just fucking done one or the other, the flavors run over each fucking other, even though they're both delicious." As he chides the other man about his dietary habits and options, and then a further squint at the light. "Fuck off we're fine, we don't need to get married."
Elora lips curl into a sharp, knowing smile as she suddenly begins to sing, her voice lilting and soft, carrying an eerie, fae-like quality that seems to tangle with the air itself. "He loves you not," she coos, the words sweet yet dripping with cold indifference, her tone swirling like mist around the dancing figure.
the playful light in her eyes fading as her voice drops lower, her words now carrying a subtle bite. "Think you we came to play?" The question is a whisper on the wind, but it hangs heavy in the air, laden with the dark promise of her magic. Her glowing runes pulsing faintly at her feet as the darkness around her presses closer.
"You are to be consigned to a worse fate," she finishes, her voice rising in a chilling crescendo, like a fae lullaby gone terribly wrong. Her eyes lock onto the figure, cold and distant. "Dance while you can," she whispers, the final words barely audible but laced with a cruel certainty. And as she speaks, the air around her hums with a deeper magic, ready to snuff out the last flickers of hope.
"I am not a one cheese man, mon ami! I like the brie, and the gruyere, and the.. tasty? The American cheese too. I like all cheese." Emmanuel laments back in response to Novel, no longer just speaking about cheese as he finds himself dwelling over his closer relationships, and the woes attached to them, "I am the opposite of lactose intolerant, hm? I am lactore.. super tolerant."
Elora runes are glowing brightly now, shining every bigt as bright as the dancing figure and casting a glow upon her.
Thankfully, any doubt Euphemia has, has either been voiced... dealt with, or had already begun to fester within her heart. The present objective seems to root her in place, though her grip on her bow loosens... as her hands instead fall to the pendant sitting upon her breast. She closes her eyes... mouthing a silent prayer... as the heat within her chest flares. The sensation started in her heart, a quiet spark that steadily grew, spreading through her body. Slowly, the warmth became a soft glow, lighting her skin from the inside. The fire spread like liquid light through her veins, traveling up her arms, down her legs, and across her entire form, casting a gentle, flickering glow across the Cemetary itself. A soft, comforting heat radiates from her form... like standing before the flames of a hearth... blanketing all those near to her.
"Fucking stop mixing them they've got all these subtle flavors, gruyere is a great melting cheese and processed cheese isn't fucking bad with that but STOP MIXING IT WITH BRIE, it's got this creamy flavor to it that's really wonderful on it's own and you SHOULD be serving it at room temperature or light baked in biscuit dough," Novel bitches out at Emmanuel. "AND I can tell you were using the microwave which causes the milk solids to separate, I have to teach you to fucking cook properly WHO has heard of a FRENCH who can't FUCKING COOK."
Novel rants about food.
As the games come to and end and the spirit is banished, the whimsy and all its charms seem to fade away. Bringing a barren, dull feeling to the graveyard once again. Wasnt it better before?...
Elora's chanting and symbolic circle crafting, bathed in the glow of neon orbs and ethereal light, became the pivotal element in their standoff against the ghostly children's influences. Amidst forced confessions and the spirit's attempts at sowing discord, including a bizarre command for two members of the group to share a kiss, each individual's resolve was tested. Emmanuel's and Novel's altercation turned comical confession session, and Euphemia's guarded but valiant front, underscored by Elora's focus on her incantations, showcased the group's resilience. Despite the spirit's best efforts to lead them astray with illusions of lost loves and whispered temptations, they pressed on.
The climax of their struggle saw Elora intensifying her magical efforts, leading to the spirit's eventual banishment. With the departure of the spectral children, the whimsical yet oppressive atmosphere they'd conjured dissipated, leaving behind a sobering reality. Novel's rant about proper cheese usage and cooking techniques humorously cut through the aftermath, illustrating the return to normalcy and grounding the group after their surreal encounter. However, a lingering sense of melancholy pervaded, a silent acknowledgment that the cemetery's usual stillness couldn't quite compare to the fleeting, though unsettling, enchantment of the ghost children's games.
(Emmanuel's ghost banishing)
[Tue Oct 15 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 57F(13C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waxing gibbous moon.
Child-like giggling begins to fill the graveyard, it comes from everywhere, filling the minds of the small gathering here only to suddenly cut off, leaving everything dead silent, not even the wind makes a sound, the distant cars passing the graveyard have been muted. Only local voices can be heard by one another.
Novel rollls right on up, boots thumping across the ground and offering a lazy smirk to Euphemia, "Not much, slut, just finished a shift at Sludgefukk. You?" And then, more casually, "Hey, Elora, Emmanuel-oh for fuck's sake."
"Uuugh." There's a low grunt of disssatisfaction as the giggling fills the air, and Emmanuel turns to glance back toward his van, as if considering just running away from this particular spirit, "I am hating these things, hm? Why is it children?"
Emmanuel says "Non, they are not a helpful person. They're a monster, and a trickster. "
As the eerie giggling filled the graveyard, Euphemia tensed, her focus shifting to the oppressive atmosphere that seemed to close in around them. The sound, coming from everywhere at once, sent a chill through her, but Euphemia seems resolved... steady, preparing to assist Emmanuel and Novel in their attempt to banish the spirit. Her breath caught as the laughter abruptly cut off, leaving a deafening silence. The entire world seemed to mute around them -- no wind, no distant cars, only the faint sound of their own voices breaking the oppressive quiet. Euphemia's hands hovered near her weapons, her eyes scanning the dimly lit gravestones for any sign of movement. The unnatural stillness pressed against her, but she kept her mind clear, ready to act when the time came.
Elora looks around the stretch of old cemetery with the grass grounds half-swallowing the tombstones as the child-like giggling begins to fill the graveyard coming from everywhere at once. As the silence is filled not by wind by by the voice of others she doesn't join in the talking. Instead she moves a bit away from the others, finding a stick, she starts using to trace out ruins on the ground.
Euphemia says "...Call me that again, and i'll shove those trousers down your throat. I'm cool, though. Lepia is very sweet."
A soft, melodic voice fills the air, teasing, 'I know something you dont... but what if you already knew? Go on, tell them... or I will!' Suddenly, the urge to spill a long-hidden secret burns in your chest.
The voice wrapped around her thoughts, its playful tone turning darker as the urge began to grow. The temptation gnawed at her, the need to speak, to release the long-hidden truth she'd kept buried. Her hands clenched into fists, breath quickening as the secret burned inside her, threatening to spill out against her will. Euphemia's wintry blue eyes darted to Emmanuel and Novel, the pressure building, almost unbearable, but she fought against it, struggling to keep the words from escaping. "Ah -- I brought something back from my last--" Euphemia's eyes widen, both hands slamming into her own mouth to silence herself.
"You wish you could make me choke," Novel hassles Euphemia good-naturedly, seemingly completely intent on doing the opposite as the man literally whips out a crack pipe and with a snap and a few clicks of his finger, lights up and takes in a deep inhale, a flashing grimace crossing his lips. "Fuck off, nobody can prove shit about anything. I never goddamn touched the guy." There's a wistful noise, a deep, exasperated sigh of disappointment crossing his features. "Fuck, I wish we hadn't gone so far and he killed himself. I still miss him." As he digs up some long-buried and some deeply fucked up memory that seems to bring him equal parts sadness and joy as he stares into the distance, somewhere south.
Elora is still sketching a circle of sigils on the ground when the melodic voice comes and fills her with an urge. Her eyes raise and look around the group taking in Euphemia, Emmanuel, and Novel. The stillness of the silence is broken by her voice as she admits, "I once accepted a bargain with a fae. I thought I was getting freedom, but I was tricked." She shakes her head a moment after speaking the words. Then redoubles her focus on the sigils she is drawing. A circle is taking shape, one with lines coming out of it forming claw, tooth, or thorn like points around its edges. its a wider circle, wide enough that one could stand in it. And as she completes it she does just that, stepping into its center.
A soft giggle echoes in the air, followed by the scent of roses. For a brief moment, the face of a lover or crush you havent seen in years flashes before your eyeswas it real, or just a trick?
What secrets does Emmanuel even have? "Ah, I cut my own hair," Is that even a secret? It's evidence of self-harm perhaps, but not really that surprising. "I am only half-French, hm? My mother is from Belgium." Gross, but also not that big a secret. "There is being some part of me that wants Korina to step on me." Also gross, but also not that earth-shattering a secret. Probably a little embarrasing though. "The first person I killed was-" Nah, he isn't going to finish this thought, and much like Euphemia, claps a hand over his mouth.
Elora has hair that is neon and turquoise that looks darker in the dimness of the graveyard. But that changes as suddenly glowing orbs begin to whisp into reality around her, lighting the area and casting away some of the gloom. They hang in the air on nothing, moving lazily in a circle around her. They cast a gentle glow over everyone present as well as the tombstones and overgrown grass.
The image was faint, almost dreamlike, leaving her unsure if it was real or merely a trick of the spirit. But Euphemia's history truly had not comtained many lovers... and there was no time to dwell on it. With a sharp breath, Euphemia recomposed herself, shaking off the momentary confusion. Her focus returned as she quickly drew her bow, notching an arrow and steadying her aim. The past, whether real or imagined, was pushed aside as she readied herself for what came in the future, clear and resolute. "...These things need to stop messing with our minds. Stay focused, we'll cover your ritual."
Novel seems to be caught up down a walk across memory lane, a wistful smile dancing across his features and a contemplative mien to his thoughts. He's definitely not paying attention... and then there's a flash from the ghost. An image. And it's gone. He's all scowls, now, deeply angry as he turns away with a snarl on his face and agreeing with Euphemia, "Yeah, all right. Whatver. I prefer the brimstone fucking bitches," He mutters as he stomps around Elora's circle, setting up to flank and spread out to provide the other coverage as he settles into a knife-fighter's crouch.
Elora has teal eyes which catches the glow of coming off of the orbs around her giving them a more surreal quality. She looks toward the others as her magic settles on the area, lighting it, in a wondering way as she is told to stay focused - distracted by the request for a lack of distraction - but then she does focus, kneeling once more now within the circle she had drawn she begins to draw ever more intracte sigils upon the ground.
A soft giggle echoes in the air, followed by the scent of roses. For a brief moment, the face of a lover or crush you havent seen in years flashes before your eyeswas it real, or just a trick?
The soft giggle echoed again, roses perfuming the air, but this time, the fleeting image of a lover or crush did nothing to unsettle Euphemia. Her mind remained clear, focused on the moment. Without hesitation, she drew her bow, notching an arrow with practiced precision. The spirits' tricks no longer phased her -- shed shrugged off the illusion without a second thought. Calm and composed, Euphemia stood ready, eyes scanning the area, prepared to take action without a trace of confusion.
There is a wary glance afforded toward Elora as she prepares her magic, but soon enough Emmanuel is exhaling a long breath and reaching into his pockets. He goes about trying to form a circle of salt around her, which while not as cool as her magic, is definitely almost a circle?
Euphemia says, exhasperated, "This shit is ridiculous. Novel, i'm about to start shooting you."
Elora begins to mutter under her breath as she draws sigils. "Nullum solacium quaere, nullam vindicationem tene... abito, oblitus, sine nomines," she practically hisses out. She doesn't stop the low chanting of latin words either. They spill from her in a stream as she works a ritual against the giggling echoes of the spirits influencing the group.
Emmanuel says "A small mercy, hm? We are just dealing with spirit fae children."
Emmanuel says "Right now. Oui."
Novel answers Euphemia with a shrug, "Hey, whatever makes you fucking feel better. I could probably absorb at least ONE fucking bullet as long as you aren't blasting me with a fucking shotgun at this range," he mutters back to the woman, his feet shifting with obvious agitation and the thud-thud-thud as his booted foot starts kicking a gravestone, as if that will make the ghosts calm down and be less angry.
Elora as she continues to hiss lowly under her breath and sketch ruins some of the runes that she had drawn into the earth are beginning to glow faintly with an etheranl neon light not too dissimilar from the color of her hair. Surrounded by the gentle glow which due to the unkepmpty grass tends to be blocked except near her where she clears it with stick and hand, she is lit from both above by spinning lights and below by the etheral glow.
The feminine voice echos to each person, Lets play a game! Two of you must kiss! and you feel a very strong desire to play along regardless of your feelings towards your companions.
Emmanuel says "Yeah, we're fin-"
Elora perks up. "Oh," the diminuitive girl so fae like in apperance says. "I like games!" She looks up from her drawing of runes. She looks around the group; the lights around her are glowing more fiercely now, flaring as if to protect her from the influence.
Emmanuel pauses mid-response over the comms, and turns to glance over toward Novel. "Gods above, you have always made such delicious food, hm?" He drawls out, caught up in the moment as his gaze turns from admiration to something more, and then Emmanuel is launching himself at the other man, mashing his lips against him while groping, and grappling at him, "Kiss me, kiss me, you beautiful lunatic."
Elora looks toward the Euphemia. "Shall we?"
Novel is currently sucking on a brightly glowing red crack pipe as he leans over to give Emmanuel a big, WET SMOOCH, and likely to leave a caustic chemical dime-burn on his cheek and an accidental contact high to the poor frenchman. The man tastes like someone who's been eating greasy noodles and then poured the contents of the fireworks factory nearby in plus the alleyways for good measure as he reaches around to pull him close by the hip, "Fuck you you fucking faggot it's amazing to watch you murder the shit out of things and then pretend you hate it while being really happy about it."
Euphemia glances nervously in the direction of Emmanuel... but every ounce of her willpower seems intent upon keeping herself rooted in place. She steps into the circle of salt, lowering down... only for Elora to offer some relief for that urge. "I- um, sure." She kneels down... setting her bow aside... and reaches out to caress the side of this stranger's cheek. Leaning inwards to tentatively caress her lips with Euphemia's own.
A soft, melodic voice fills the air, teasing, 'I know something you dont... but what if you already knew? Go on, tell them... or I will!' Suddenly, the urge to spill a long-hidden secret burns in your chest.
"Neh, neh," There's audible lip-smacking sounds as Emmanuel slobbers all over and against Novel's wet lips, breathing in those terrible chemicals and exhaling through his nose. The lock of lips breaks, so that the Frenchman can avoid being burned any further, and he dips in closer toward Novel's neck to bite, and kiss at him. "Mon deiu, you are so savage, hm? So primal? You just do what you want," He reaches around and takes a palmful of all American beef, which is to say, Novel's buttttttttt.
Elora makes a pleased sound. "This is much more pleasant than the last time I came here. Then I was alone and instead of children, an army. And it was most cold. Terribly, terribly cold." She smiles at Euphemia, but then shakes herself.
Elora doesn't bother calling out a secret as the sigils around her flare once more.
Elora hisses out under her breath once more, looking more tense as she refocuses on the Inctation that goes along with her Ritualism. "Nullum solacium quaere, nullam vindicationem tene... abito, oblitus, sine nomine, she hisses, her words weaving through the air lit by the whisping lights of her magic."
Novel writhes against Emmanuel in either ecstasy or pain as he tastes the French cheese on his lips. But, they both know the insane fucker likes weird cheeses that have been sitting out too long as he tilts his head to one side as he draws the other man towards terrible embrace and then - he shoves the man away with an open, thumping palm, wiping his lips. "Alright I'm done get the fuck off me, the last time I blew a dude for a hit was years ago." As he reveals yet another terrible, but likely unsurprising, secret.
The pleased response from Elora seems to bring a soft smile to the lithe woman's lips... a soft flush of crimson blossoming across her cheeks in the aftermath of her kiss. For a moment, Euphemia sits there in silence. Silently admiring, and listening... to this woman she has never met. But the urge to spill secrets snaps her back to reality... both hands raising to slap the sides of her face. "...Focus! FOCUS!" She whirls around, thrusting herself to her feet... as an ethereal light begins to glow underneath her skin. She takes a defensive stance above Elora, Bow at the ready.
Euphemia says "Well you're not alone now, yes? We've got your back."
Emmanuel had just about been getting ready to clamber up Novel like he were a tree, and mount him right there and then, until he's shoved back and stumbles away. There's a headiness to him, and he blinks rapidly, trying to shake out the fog from both the contact high, and the sheer drug that is Novel himself, "..Right." He blurts out, awkwardly, and clears his throat several times, then spits on the ground. "You kiss like a sexy llama," Emmanuel accuses of Novel then, and moves to get back to tossing salt.
Elora in her muttering seems to be having some impact. The silence that was so heavy and muting seems to lift slightly. Abito, oblitus, sine nomine... There is an aggression to her words. Her teal eyes rove as she chants, as if searching for something amid the cemetary tombstones.
A flash of light reveals a dancing figure, twirling gracefully through the air. Their voice is sing-songy as they tease, 'He loves me... he loves me not...' Each time they speak, doubt flickers in your heart about your closest relationships.
Novel rolls the pipe to the other side of his lips and then squints at Emmanuel, "And you kiss like a goddamn cat attached to the end of a vacuum cleaner," As the man raises his v-neck to wipe at his neck and lips though there's an easy smirk on his lips, "Though seriously, brie AND gruyere melted together? Come on man, should have just fucking done one or the other, the flavors run over each fucking other, even though they're both delicious." As he chides the other man about his dietary habits and options, and then a further squint at the light. "Fuck off we're fine, we don't need to get married."
Elora lips curl into a sharp, knowing smile as she suddenly begins to sing, her voice lilting and soft, carrying an eerie, fae-like quality that seems to tangle with the air itself. "He loves you not," she coos, the words sweet yet dripping with cold indifference, her tone swirling like mist around the dancing figure.
the playful light in her eyes fading as her voice drops lower, her words now carrying a subtle bite. "Think you we came to play?" The question is a whisper on the wind, but it hangs heavy in the air, laden with the dark promise of her magic. Her glowing runes pulsing faintly at her feet as the darkness around her presses closer.
"You are to be consigned to a worse fate," she finishes, her voice rising in a chilling crescendo, like a fae lullaby gone terribly wrong. Her eyes lock onto the figure, cold and distant. "Dance while you can," she whispers, the final words barely audible but laced with a cruel certainty. And as she speaks, the air around her hums with a deeper magic, ready to snuff out the last flickers of hope.
"I am not a one cheese man, mon ami! I like the brie, and the gruyere, and the.. tasty? The American cheese too. I like all cheese." Emmanuel laments back in response to Novel, no longer just speaking about cheese as he finds himself dwelling over his closer relationships, and the woes attached to them, "I am the opposite of lactose intolerant, hm? I am lactore.. super tolerant."
Elora runes are glowing brightly now, shining every bigt as bright as the dancing figure and casting a glow upon her.
Thankfully, any doubt Euphemia has, has either been voiced... dealt with, or had already begun to fester within her heart. The present objective seems to root her in place, though her grip on her bow loosens... as her hands instead fall to the pendant sitting upon her breast. She closes her eyes... mouthing a silent prayer... as the heat within her chest flares. The sensation started in her heart, a quiet spark that steadily grew, spreading through her body. Slowly, the warmth became a soft glow, lighting her skin from the inside. The fire spread like liquid light through her veins, traveling up her arms, down her legs, and across her entire form, casting a gentle, flickering glow across the Cemetary itself. A soft, comforting heat radiates from her form... like standing before the flames of a hearth... blanketing all those near to her.
"Fucking stop mixing them they've got all these subtle flavors, gruyere is a great melting cheese and processed cheese isn't fucking bad with that but STOP MIXING IT WITH BRIE, it's got this creamy flavor to it that's really wonderful on it's own and you SHOULD be serving it at room temperature or light baked in biscuit dough," Novel bitches out at Emmanuel. "AND I can tell you were using the microwave which causes the milk solids to separate, I have to teach you to fucking cook properly WHO has heard of a FRENCH who can't FUCKING COOK."
Novel rants about food.
As the games come to and end and the spirit is banished, the whimsy and all its charms seem to fade away. Bringing a barren, dull feeling to the graveyard once again. Wasnt it better before?...